


Beautiful Stranger

by Inell



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alley Sex, Beginnings, F/M, Giving into desire, Meet at a bar, Not Canon Compliant - Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, POV First Person, Romance, Sex with a stranger, Sexual Coercion, written in 2004
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-26
Updated: 2015-07-26
Packaged: 2018-04-11 09:07:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4429526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inell/pseuds/Inell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hermione meets a beautiful stranger when she’s out with friends</p>
            </blockquote>





	Beautiful Stranger

**Author's Note:**

> _Originally Published: October 13, 2004_

The air was thick with the scents of tobacco, alcohol, and cheap perfume. The tobacco and alcohol wouldn't have been so bad, but the cheap perfume was giving me a terrible headache. I looked around the small table, my eyes looking at the witches gathered there. They were colleagues from the Ministry, five women with whom I had never had more than a ten-minute conversation in the four years that I had worked at the Ministry. My time was spent on my job as a researcher for the Department of Mysteries, long hours, good pay, and a sense of satisfaction with I completed a project. I rarely had time for socializing, hadn’t even been out since the last time Harry had visited several months ago.   
  
  
These women were familiar strangers. Smiles in the hall, chit chat in the elevator, and polite conversation in the lobby. That had been the extent of our socializing in the past. Why, then, did I now find myself clustered around a small table in a foul smelling pub with them? Because I had finally said yes to their usual weekly invitation. Somehow, an evening out with the girls had sounded a bit more fun than sitting at home alone on yet another Friday night reading a book on the history of magic or, most likely, pulling out research notes and working as the minutes slowly crept by. Of course, after sitting in this bar for an hour, I was beginning to regret the impulsive response.  
  
  
The girls were all very nice, taking great pains at including me in their conversations. They were all around my age, twenty-five, but, at times, they seemed much younger. Chattering about this wizard and that, gossiping about various tidbits from the Daily Prophet social pages, discussing new restaurants in Diagon Alley, talking about the latest charms to improve appearances. It wasn't them. It was me, as usual. I just wasn't very social, I guess. Straining to hear over loud music did nothing more than cause annoyance. I leaned back, running a hand over my face.   
  
  
I wished for a moment that I was at home, wearing my comfortable old Chudley Cannons T-shirt and sweats with a thick text in my lap and a piece of parchment on my knee as I took notes. I ran a hand through my thick, curly brown hair, letting it fall back to place in the middle of my back. I hadn't taken time to change after work, just removing my robe, wondering for a minute if I would have been more comfortable in Muggle jeans.   
  
  
The black skirt I was wearing fell just above my knees, my stockings doing very little to protect my legs from the chill in the air. One of my few indulgences, stockings made me feel feminine but weren't as practical as pantyhose. I had a fondness for lingerie. Surprising fact since most considered me too practical and boring for such a fanciful pleasure. Today, I had chosen a burgundy blouse to wear beneath my robes, a color that reminded me of Hogwarts and a time when loneliness was rare and happened to look rather good on me. The blouse was silk and one of my favorites.  
  
  
All in all, I feel that I look okay tonight. Not beautiful, but not completely unattractive. Rolling my eyes, I take a drink from my glass. Now is not the time for cataloging my faults. I'm average, in weight, in height, in hair and eye color. I could blend in to any crowd and no one would remember me. I am very secure with my intelligence, knowing that I am clever and capable, but I have never been confident about my appearance. I'm actually fine with how I look, having realized years ago that I was not going to win any beauty pageants, but I still have moments where I wish I was beautiful and stunning.   
  
  
Pretty would be about the best I would ever be, and that actually took a bit more effort than I normally found worthwhile. My hair is unruly and difficult to manage even with the aid of charms so I rarely went to the trouble, letting it flow down my back in wild curls that were still often called ‘bushy’. My eyes are one of my better features, I guess. Brown, though Harry insists they are amber, a tawny yellowish-brown that I have to admit are somewhat striking. I am a bit too curvy to fit with the expectations of petite and thin that most men found attractive. My hand unconsciously moves along my stomach, just a bit of a tummy that causes me to make another vow to begin some sort of exercise program around my schedule.   
  
  
With a sigh, I take another drink of my butterbeer, listening to the sounds of my friends laughing over some joke or another. I look up, noticing that two of my friends are now dancing. I find myself smiling as one flirted with a blond wizard that seemed smitten all ready. I have to admit that I am relieved they chose this club for our outing, a new venture in Diagon Alley where Muggle dress was norm. My eyes sweep over the people in the bar, pausing when they reach a man standing in the corner beside the bar. My brown eyes narrow in recognition. I've seen him somewhere, but where?  
  
  
I study him, trying to place his face. He's very handsome, what appears to be green eyes watching the dancing couples, his beautiful lips curled in amusement. Beautiful lips? God, I've been reading too many romance novels. I curse Ginny for getting me hooked on the silly books, making a mental note to run by the bookstore the following day to pick up a few more. I'm sitting here in a crowded, smoky bar lusting for some stranger that seems vaguely familiar. I look away from him, wondering why he is so amused. I find myself looking back again, unable to keep my eyes off this beautiful stranger.   
  
  
He appears to be alone, nursing a drink as he watches everyone. He is sitting on a stool, his slender body resting against the bar. His left foot is tapping against the bottom of the stool, giving me the impression that he isn't used to sitting still for so long. He has a good build, not too thin but not too large. Just perfect, or, at least what I can see appears so. He's wearing a dark green sweater that stretches over his broad shoulders, showing muscular, tan arms where the sleeves are pushed up. My eyes continue their slow perusal of the wizard, noticing black Muggle jeans covering long legs and black boots. I bet he has a great arse, shaking my head slightly at that naughty thought.  
  
  
I notice what appears to be a long black coat behind him on the stool. His hair is brown, but not plain like mine. Light brown and sun streaked, looking like caramel or perhaps toffee, making him even more edible, a voice in my mind whispers naughtily. His hair is short in back, barely brushing against the nape of his neck, but it’s long on top, falling forward around his face, giving him a youthful appearance. I'd guess that he was close to my age, maybe a bit older, though it was difficult to tell. Regardless, I knew one thing for certain. He was completely out of my league. Hell, I couldn't even get tickets to his Quidditch pitch. Just another face to add to my fantasy list, I decide.  
  
  
I turn to my friends, laughing politely at a rather stupid joke. I ask myself again why I am still there. Without thinking, my eyes move back to the man. I didn't go to school with him. At least, I don’t think I did, knowing he hadn’t been in my year, though there was a possibility he had been ahead of me since I rarely paid attention to the students that were not in my year unless they were Gryffindor. I do think that I'd have remembered his face, having to admit with a feminine appreciation that he was one of the better looking men I‘d ever seen.   
  
  
I watch him take a drink, his tongue running along his full lips as he laughs at something the bartender says. This action makes him look even more desirable. Charming, attractive, flirtatious if the gleam in his green eyes is any indication, and not someone that would ever notice a bookworm like me. With a dry laugh, I turn back to my drink. Definitely out of my league. Best to just ignore the temptation of staring at the beautiful stranger. I find my eyes drawn to the dance floor again, smiling at the dancers. Bored out of my mind. Another drink.   
  
  
After ten minutes of watching them, I find my eyes drawn back to the man. My eyes widen as he catches my gaze. Well, this tops off a perfectly hideous evening. Caught ogling by a very attractive, very amused man. That does it. Time to go home. I hurriedly stand, thankful that I made no promises to see anyone home. I can leave whenever I wish, not having to wait to escort an inebriated friend home. From the look of things, the girls from the office are going to be here for several more hours. After making excuses, I take another drink before slipping on my coat. Impulsively, I take one last look at the beautiful man by the bar.   
  
  
He smiles, a sexy twist of full lips, raising his glass slightly before he looks back at the dance floor. With a sigh, I walk towards the exit. I wish I were brave enough to go to him, to ask him where I've seen his face, to do anything other than run away. But, I'm not. It doesn't really matter, anyway. The bar is full of beautiful women who will be all over him the minute he moves away from the bar. He probably found it amusing that I was watching him. This was such a stupid idea.  
  
  
The pub is, thankfully, not too far from my flat in Muggle London. I could apparate home from an apparation point, but I decide to go ahead and walk. It’s been a busy week and I could use some fresh air. Maybe I’ll stop to get some coffee from the new place by my flat. I leave Diagon Alley and enter Muggle London, still having that moment of adjustment when I leave the Wizarding world and enter the Muggle world. Even after fourteen years in both worlds, I always expect to see everyone in robes, though more of the younger wizards and witches have begun wearing Muggle clothing for social gatherings following the end of the War seven years ago.   
  
  
The streets of London are filled with a variety of people, every type of personality imaginable. I find myself just watching them all, finally pulling my coat tighter as I step onto the street. It's later than I had realized, a half moon shining from the sky overhead. It’s cloudy and looks like rain, groaning as I realize that would, indeed, be the perfect end to the day. In the time I had been in the pub, it had gotten colder. My coat is thin and isn’t doing much against the chill in the air. I shiver as I adjust from leaving the warm pub and entering the cool night air.   
  
  
This might not have been the best idea, I realize, but I have all ready left the last apparation point and don’t fancy sneaking into some dirty alley to apparate home so I shall grit my teeth and walk, a bit more briskly than leisurely, of course. I start walking towards my flat, my mind wandering back to the man at the bar. Somehow, I imagined that my mind would remind me of his image for many nights to come. I couldn't remember ever being more aroused than I had been from just his smile. I was lucky that I hadn't spoken to him, figuring I would have had more trouble getting him out of my head if I had.  
  
  
I’m actually surprised by my reaction to him. Dating has never been an important part of my life. During school, I was constantly studying to prove to the critics that a Muggleborn was just as good as, if not better than, the snobbish Purebloods that felt I didn’t belong amongst their kind. When I wasn’t surrounded by books and schoolwork, I was helping Harry with his fight against Voldemort, having little time for such foolish things as wizards and dating.   
  
  
By the time I reached college, the War was finally over and I realized that I’d not even been on a real date, not including the disaster that was Ron and I attempting a date during sixth year, just further proof that we made better friends than dating partners. I tried dating but no one caught my fancy so I gave up after the experiment proved a failure. I focused on my studies and then my job. I have a very healthy fantasy life, but have never met anyone that caught my attention enough to allow the fantasies to become reality.   
  
  
I pull myself from my thoughts, looking around nervously as I reach the corner where I turn to head to my flat. This area is less populated and darker, my position paying well enough but not nearly enough for a nicer flat in a fancy area of town. It’s not dangerous, but it does cause a moment of hesitation as I look at the nearly deserted street. Maybe I should go ahead and apparate after all. Shaking my head, I realize how silly I'm being. In a few minutes, I'll be home if I quit waiting and simply walk with my customary determined glide.   
  
  
It is shortly after I turn the corner that it happens. So fast that I don’t even realize until I am in an alley, my face pressing against the brick of the building. A large hand covers my mouth, keeping me from screaming. I snap out of my shock and begin to struggle, fear giving me more strength than I normally possess. My fingernails claw at the hand holding my mouth, memories of a dark time too easily entering my mind as I recall those years of the War when Deatheaters were lurking everywhere. Panic sets in as I fight the person holding me.   
  
  
"Shhh, kitten. I'm not going to hurt you," a soft voice whispers in my ear. It gives the impression of familiarity. My eyes are wide as I try to place it. Husky with a slight accent. Posh and cultured, articulate, and very sexy. I continue to struggle, not wanting to accept how hopeless it all is, not caring if he does have a sexy voice. He's strong, holding me against the wall with relative ease. What was he going to do? Would I be raped and possibly killed in some dirty alley in London? "I saw you watching me, those beautiful amber eyes giving me all sorts of ideas."  
  
  
I freeze as his words register. My eyes widen and my hands stop clawing at him. I’m sure dismay and confusion are in my eyes as I deny the only possibility. It couldn't be him. There was no way that my beautiful stranger was the man behind me. His voice is still low and husky, his mouth right beside my ear as he speaks. Merlin, it is him. It has to be, my reaction just as intense as it had been from simply watching him in the pub. My body is on fire, aroused beyond belief. He's taller than I, stronger than I had imagined. I want to ask him why me, want to know his name, want to know if this is really happening or if I'm caught in some daydream. Instead, I whimper, my mind wondering just what sort of ideas he was having.  
  
  
He chuckles as his lips brush against my cheek, seeming to understand that I was surrendering. "I'll tell them all to you, later," he whispers as his body pushes against mine. Later? My mind reels at that, my breath catching as his large hand moves against my tummy. The warmth of his hand, rough skin brushing over my flesh as his other hand tangles in my hair. My head is lifted, his lips capturing mine in a passionate kiss. My eyes open, looking into eyes the color of emeralds.   
  
  
He is amused and aroused, looking more beautiful than anyone I've ever seen. I no longer care who he is, I just want him. There. In the alley. I wonder what was in my butterbeer to cause me to act so brazen and wanton, this witch considering shagging a complete stranger, no matter how beautiful, not the Hermione Granger that I usually am. Deciding to take a chance, to be reckless for the first time in my adult life, I act impulsively with only a slight nagging wondering I’m doing the right thing, the smart thing.  
  
  
"Please," I whisper, knowing that this is the most daring experience of my life. Sex with a stranger in an alley. Not just a stranger, but a gorgeous brunet that was straight out of my fantasies. This had to be a dream. Things like this didn't happen to me, ever. I didn’t even have men flirt with me, much less accost me in dark alleys and whisper seductively in my ear. And they certainly didn’t look at me as if I was sexy, desirable, and beautiful.   
  
  
"I knew you'd be like this," he says with a slight smirk, his hand moving up to cup my breast, my moan his only answer. "When I saw you in that bar, I recognized the look. Oh, you tried to hide it, tried to run from it, but it was too late. I'd already seen it. Already wanted to possess you. I will possess you, kitten."  
  
  
"Merlin, yes," I hiss, his fingers twisting my nipples as my entire body erupts in flames. No more words are spoken as his lips claim mine, my body turning to face him. I feel the cold brick behind me, his hand on my ass as I arch against him. With abandon, my hands move under his sweater, my nails raking across his warm flesh. He growls softly and pushes me against the wall hard, his erection obvious as he moves between my legs. I did that to him, I realize with surprise. This wonderful, enticing, attractive man found me arousing. I move against his leg, hearing with horror the sound of ripping. I pull my head back, eyes widening, looking at his torn sweater with surprise. Did I do that?  
  
  
He laughs, catching my eyes as he says, "I didn't like it anyway, kitten," before claiming my mouth again. He tastes of firewhiskey and honey, completely intoxicating. I feel his fingers brush against my cheek. I turn my head, catching one in my mouth. His eyes darken as he pushes against me, my tongue moving over the length of his finger, sucking him into my mouth. He pulls his finger out, running the tip over my lips. It is then that I notice that he bites his nails, my lips curving into a slight smile at the evidence that he wasn‘t perfect. He drags his wet finger across my chin, down my neck. He's staring into my eyes, seeming to see my very soul. With more courage than I've ever possessed, my hand moves to cup him through his jeans. I squeeze him, need burning through me.  
  
  
"Fuck me," I beg, cringing slightly at the vulgar word that is almost foreign to me, watching his pretty face as he smiles wickedly, relaxing as I realize he liked hearing me talk dirty. The hand on my arse moves under my skirt, my eyes closing momentarily when I hear the ripping of my panties, a soft gasp escaping my lips at the rough action. His lips brush across my face as I fumble with his zipper, pushing the denim down and freeing his cock. I look down, my hand moving over his length as his fingers move between my legs. He finds me wet, not a big surprise. I'm ready for him, more ready than I've ever been.  
  
  
I'm surprised when he curses, his hand moving to still mine. "I don't have anything," he whispers, need causing his voice to be more husky. Have what? My eyes widen when I realize what he means. I don't have anything either. It's not like I've ever done this before, would have a need to carry around protection. I'm not even on the Pill. I have my wand but I don’t know any of the contraceptive charms off the top of my head and have no interest in trying to remember one at this moment. "Bloody hell, I’m a git," he suddenly smiles as he fumbles in his pocket, removing a wand and quickly casting the charm, smiling sheepishly as I realize that he’d been so carried away from kissing me that he’d momentarily forgotten the necessary charm. Before I can smile, his lips catch mine again, his tongue exploring my mouth as he moves against me.   
  
  
After that, everything happens fast. He lifts me, my legs wrapping around his waist as he moves his cock against me. I wonder for a moment how he will fit. His size is impressive, about average in length from what I had read about such things but a bit thick. I know he will fit but I can’t help imagining the discomfort of him entering me the first time. I feel him start to thrust inside me, my eyes closing and my teeth clenching as I wait for the brief pain. He stops moving, my eyes opening to catch him watching my face. When I'm looking into his eyes, when he has my complete attention and I‘m practically begging him to take me, he moves suddenly, thrusting deep inside me.   
  
  
I gasp in surprise as I feel him enter me completely, stretching me. The pain is sharp and it hurts for a moment but soon the pain fades as he stays inside me. I feel complete with him buried within me, I realize, watching his face as he holds me against the wall. His eyes widen slightly as he discovers my secret, an emotion I don't recognize entering them before he kisses me again, tender yet needy, passionate. He slowly starts to move, in and out, my body soon adjusting to his size. My hands move along his back, nails digging into his tan flesh, my body soon moving to meet his thrusts, needing more. The speed increases as we kiss, tongues and lips, hands moving, my body consumed with pleasure.  
  
  
It doesn't take long before I am coming, moans spilling from my lips as I lean my head back, looking at the sky as my orgasm spreads over me. His lips are on my neck, teeth nibbling on my flesh, sucking my skin into his mouth, marking me. He is moving faster, the brick behind me rubbing against my coat. My eyes find his face, seeing that he is still watching me. I want to mark him, too, I realize. Give him something to remember about this fantasy night. I move my head, sucking his neck hard as he continues to thrust in to me. I know that the love bite will soon fade, but, for a few days, he'll remember me.  
  
  
I feel the tension start to build again, his hand squeezing my breast, his thumb brushing against my nipple. I squeeze his cock, rewarded by his moan. I want him to come with me. It isn't long before I get my wish. His lips claim mine as he sinks deep into me, his seed spilling as my world again explodes. It is later, when I am standing on shaky legs, gasping for breath, that he smiles a boyish smile, pushing his sweaty hair from his forehead, and asks curiously, "What's your name?"  
  
  
I almost don't tell him, not wanting to ruin the fantasy. I whisper it, wondering if he is only asking to be polite, surprised to see a flash of recognition in their green depths when he hears it. Now that is over, that reality is unavoidable, the doubts enter my normally logical and careful mind. I wonder how many times he has done this, picked up some average girl and fucked her senseless. As if he can read my mind, which I beginning to think he can, he gestures around and whispers, "This is a first, Hermione."  
  
  
I nod, giving him a smile, not sure if I should believe him, not really caring either way. Tonight was amazing, unreal, unforgettable. I can feel our mixed juices on my upper thighs, deciding that I need a shower. Despite the cold, I'm covered with a sheen of sweat. I give him a shy smile, still having no idea who he is. I don't ask, instead telling him, "Thank you, for tonight. It was beyond anything I could have imagined."  
  
  
"I should be thanking you," he says softly, a wicked look entering his eyes, "And we really need to work on that imagination of yours, kitten."  
  
  
I laugh softly, his enthusiasm nearly visible, a part of me dwelling on his words, wondering if he wants more than just this one time, wishing I knew his name and didn‘t feel so awkward asking. "I'd better go. I need a shower, and I've got several more blocks to walk."  
  
  
"I thought you looked familiar, but I had no idea it was you," he says suddenly, grinning as he admits, "I went to school with you for a few years, you know? Of course, you wouldn’t have known me. I was Slytherin and several years ahead. I only knew you because I heard Malfoy constantly whining about how brilliant you were, smartest witch in your class and Potter‘s best friend."  
  
  
"Yeah, that’s me," I grimace as I hear the standard labels, having grown tired of hearing that I was the most brilliant witch of our generation by the time I graduated Hogwarts. It was all anyone ever seemed to say about me. Harry Potter’s Muggleborn friend, the most brilliant witch of her year, the bossy know-it-all who helped defeat Voldemort. It was all most people saw when they look at me, rarely seeing beneath the images that had been decided years ago.   
  
  
With a sigh, I run a hand through my hair, not believing I’d just shagged a Slytherin, one whose first thoughts upon hearing my name were the usual brilliant friend of Harry Potter instead of seeing *me*. A Slytherin whose name I still didn’t know, who was far too sexy and attractive for me to have actually just shagged so marvelously. A Slytherin with whom I was, even now, wanting to repeat the experience. Many times.  
  
  
"You’re so much more than just that, Hermione. You have no idea just how sexy and attractive you are, do you?" he laughs softly, shaking his head and smiling as my cheeks blush at his compliment. "I do believe that we shall also have to work on your confidence, kitten."  
  
  
"I’m not sexy," I deny, studying him as he again makes a reference to ‘things we’ll have to work on’, deciding that this is a list I could definitively enjoy completing with him.   
  
  
He gives me a tender kiss, making love to my mouth in such a way that I'm soon moving against him again. I feel him fastening the buttons on my shirt, his fingers caressing my breasts before he straightens up my clothes. His hands brush against my stomach and I hear the sound of his zipper as he fastens his jeans. Pulling back, he gives me the smile that turns me inside out as he quickly repairs his sweater with a wave of his wand. Both of us now dressed, looking thoroughly shagged but somewhat presentable, he catches me staring at him and winks. "I'll walk you home."  
  
  
"What?" I stare at him with shock evident on my face. I assumed his remarks were just polite conversation following a very satisfying and strenuous shag. He gets a look in his eyes as his gaze moves over me, possessive and flirtatious and full of desire, his tongue moving along his lips as he looks into my eyes, wanting me to acknowledge his lust and his intentions.   
  
  
"Did you think that this was all I wanted?" he gives me a smile, leaning forward until he's nearly touching me. "Don't worry, Hermione. You'll soon learn. I'll teach you. I‘ll teach you everything."  
  
  
"But," words fail me as I realize that he is serious. I‘m torn between being cautious and hesitant versus being brave and eager. I‘m all ready aroused and curious. I ignore the soft rain that has begun to fall, my mind quickly and logically working through the unexpected events of the evening, realizing that I want him to teach me all the things that his gaze, touch, and voice are promising. Deciding to at least make some sort of protest because I don‘t wish to be too agreeable, I say, "I don't even know your name!"  
  
  
His smile broadens at my words, his arm moving to take mine as he walks towards the street, "Adrian Pucey at your service, kitten. Now, I believe you mentioned something about a shower?"  
  
  
THE END


End file.
